


Hysteria

by tylerfucklin (Zimothy)



Category: Dead Space, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Dementia, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Psychosis, Romance, Science Fiction, Violence, Zombies, ambiguous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimothy/pseuds/tylerfucklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wants to believe that Stiles is alive, but he doesn't know what's real anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hysteria

**Author's Note:**

> this is... not a not!fic but not a fic fic? what would you call this?  
> you don't need to play Dead Space to follow what's going on, [but taking a gander at the wikipedia won't hurt. ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Space_%28video_game%29)

It takes months of Stiles pleading for Derek to come visit before Derek finally signs his ship up to do maintenance detail for The Beacon. The Beacon is a huge planetcracker, one of the biggest ships out there, and it's the furthest out over any other ship. He knows their team is going to have to be in cryo-stasis for months just to reach it--bodies can't handle hyperdrive, after all. He doesn't care, because Stiles' father is the head Chief of Security for The Beacon, and Derek knows for a fact that a ship that big always takes forever to get detailed by an engineer crew.

He and the rest of his engineer crew, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Jackson, are all excited to see The Beacon. After all, there's a good handful of crew members there that hail from their hometown of Beacon Hills, the origin of the ship's name.

Only, when Derek finally wakes up from cryo-stasis, things aren't going the way they should. Nobody can open communication with The Beacon, they get static and old SOS messages sent out weeks ago. It puts Derek on edge, and he hopes with every inch of his being that the distress signals are just to let his crew know that their systems are malfunctioning. Regardless, he doesn't let anyone suit up, keeps the crew on the shuttle as he jets his way to the Beacon.

What he finds is nothing but blood and destruction.

Bodies, parts of bodies, gore, fluids, shards of anything that could possibly be broken. It's anywhere and everywhere. Derek pages the shuttle, tells them to stay put, and he sets off to find the people he came to see. Stiles, Scott, Lydia, Stiles' father and Scott's mother. Those are the only civilians in the forefront of his mind, and he'll do anything in his ability to find them.

It's the epitome of a nightmare. Carnage caused hideous, deformed monsters that look like they might have once been human. Derek has to fight for his life, dragging himself through maintenance shafts, struggling to keep himself from getting killed, looting bodies for whatever credit he can find to keep buying ammo, to keep upgrading and doing whatever he can to find his loved ones. 

Upgrading, upgrading.

Thank god that the ship is stocked with mining equipment. A planetcracker is a potential goldmine of material used to break open layers of dirt and minerals. It isn't hard to wield that into something that can dismember anything that moves.

He thinks, at one point during a lull in bloodshed, how sad it is that this is how he gets to try on the Security Suit for the first time. He remembers seeing it in magazines, remembers Stiles boasting about how sexy Derek would look in it. top of the line engineering equipment that Derek could never before afford, he now has on his body thanks to credit he's taken from corpses. 

He wishes Stiles could see it, but he's yet to find him.

The few survivors Derek runs into are not the ones he wants. He struggles to get them to the docking bay, though, thinks if he can suit them up and send them to the shuttle, it'll be okay. It turns out these monsters--Necromorphs, is what he heard from the last audio log he picked up--can last long enough in the dead air of space to rip a few bodies in half.

Derek sleeps in utility closets, maintenance rooms, bathrooms. anywhere he can find where all ventilation and doors can be boarded up. He sleeps in snatches, sometimes of Stiles, but mostly of being back in cryo-stasis, and that none of this is real.

The logs are the worst. Audio and diary logs of text, all of it telling Derek that what's happened on this ship is not just some freak accident. Derek's never been fond of Unitology, of the Marker and everything else that's going on. It's so far over his head, that he's not even sure what's happening anymore. He scours the ship and finds nothing but dead bodies and Necromorphs. 

He finds the Marker, finds the source of all this blood and destruction, and he destroys it. He destroys it and he scrambles get off the ship.

Of course, when he reaches the shuttle, he barely has a second to wrench out his plasma cutter--designed to slice through ore, but utilized to cut off legs--to kill a necromorph that had somehow made it onto the ship. 

The dead bodies of his crew tell Derek he's the only one that's left.

Derek puts in the coordinates for home, and climbs back into cryo-sleep. 

He wakes up days, hours, years later to the sound of Stiles' voice.

"Derek, come on, sleepyhead. Wake up. Even Isaac's already out of stasis. Rise and shine, crankypants."

It hits Derek like a punch to the chest, barely taking in the sight of his crew alive and awake, barely seeing Stiles standing there with an oblivious smile. This can't be real. This can't be.

"Come on, dude. You're the last out of cryo," Stiles urges, reaching for Derek, "Up and at 'em."

Derek scrambles out of his stasis pod, struggles to get as far away as possible. He needs his plasma cutter, even his line gun. He doesn't remember taking his rig off, but it's gone, and he's back in his civian clothes, completely vulnerable. "Where's my gun?" he rasps, head spinning with how fast he's looking around for it. "No, no where is it? " This isn't real, because everyone is dead. There is no way that all of what he'd gone through was a dream. Derek did not wade through dead bodies, did not spend weeks fighting for his life for it to be just a lie. The pain was too real.

That's when Boyd and Isaac grab onto him, and he's gasping for air because he can't breathe. What the fuck is going on?

Derek closes his eyes and he sees the dead, cold air of the shuttle, with blood smeared everywhere and all of the lights out except the computer pilot taking him home.

Opening his eyes he sees everyone he's ever considered family. They're watching him, looking scared because Derek can't stop screaming and he can stop trying to break free.

That’s when someone sedates him and he passes out.

He wakes up in a straight jacket, and someone is asking him what happened aboard the Beacon.

“What did you see? why were you the only one on that shuttle?”

Derek's disoriented and confused. He gives half-answers until the doctor asking him these things has him taken away. He's put into a padded room. He falls asleep and when he wakes up, Stiles is petting his hair.

"You gave us a scare, there, buddy." Stiles looks uneasy. Derek is so, so confused. He doesn't know what's going on, he feels like he's trapped between nightmares and daydreams and there's no way to stop it. He starts to cry, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Stiles shushes him, kisses the tears from his cheeks and pets his jaw. "No, no it's okay. You're fine. we're all fine. You had a bad reaction to the cryo-stasis. Some people's minds can't shut down with the rest of their body. You're fine, baby."

Derek shakes his head, because there's no way that entire thing was just one huge nightmare. Stiles says, "Look at me, Derek. Come on, man. Look at me. Do I look dead? Do I look hurt? I don't know what your mind came up with, but it's not real, do you hear me?"

"How do I know?"

Stiles looks so pained and he says, "You don't, that's why they're gonna put you in therapy. It's like re-teaching your mind to recognize reality. I'm so fucking sorry, Derek. I wish we'd known this would happen. It's like, one in a million that this happens to."

Derek says, "I don't want this to be a dream." 

Stiles kisses him again and again until he thinks Derek HAS to know it's real. He says forcefully, "I'm real, I'm here. You're awake, do you hear me?" and Derek just nods, even though he feels crowded and like he's in danger and he needs a weapon. He needs a gun so badly, needs to save them all. He doesn't say any of this, and just tries to obey when Stiles tells him to get some more sleep before his nightmares come back.

When he opens his eyes, it's because someone is smacking his cheek, telling him to wake up. He's back in the cell, back int he straight jacket. They get him to his feet, drag him down the hall and into a cafeteria where there are others dressed like him. They undo his straps, force him through a line to get his food.

When he sits down, it's next to a man who looks rail thin, but his eyes are sharp. Derek shakily eats his food, and the guy says "You remember too, don't you?"

"What?"

"My name is Peter--I used to be on the Beacon before it all happened."

"Before what happened?"

Peter gestures vaguely, "before the marker, before everything."

Derek is trying to just eat the oatmeal they gave him, but it hurts his stomach when he eats too much at once. he has to go slow. they tell him he was on IV for a few weeks. This is the first time they've gotten him lucid without him being violent and lashing out.  
He says, "Do you know the Stilinskis?"

Peter frowns, looks at his food. "They were ship workers, if I recall."

"And you were?"

Peter starts to stir his food around, and Derek sees the medical wrist band, sees the symbol that makes his blood go cold just as Peter says, "A priest."

Derek isn't hungry anymore. Peter, men like Peter. Priests, Unitologists, all of them. They're the fucking reason all of this happened. Their obsession with the Marker, that stupid spiral. That's what brought death onto the ship, that's what killed the last of his family. He doesn't remember lunging over the table for Peter's throat, but suddenly he's being dragged back by orderlies, being sedated again while Peter chokes and gasps for air and is helped to his feet. He hears Peter apologizing as things go black.

Derek wakes up with a weight on his chest, and he doesn't scream. Screaming is what brings more of them. He doesn't remember hiding under a dead body before he took a nap, but it happens sometimes. Keeps himself safe. He goes to push the body off when it groans and wraps an arm around his waist.

Derek almost cries out, but then he looks down and he sees Stiles' face pressed into his collarbone and he remembers.

He has no idea if Stiles is really here or not, has no idea if this is one big hallucination. But he'll take what he can get. He brings his hand to Stiles' head, runs his fingers over the fluff of hair that's grown since Stiles left on the Beacon months and months beforehand. He missed Stiles so much. It hurts to think this could be a dream, but Stiles keeps telling him that it isn't. So maybe if he believes hard enough, this could be his reality.

Stiles wakes up, turns and groggily rubs his mouth against Derek's palm like he wants to kiss it but he's too sleepy. Then he looks at Derek's face and frowns.

"Another dream?"

Derek doesn't say anything, but Stiles seems to know any way. He climbs on top of Derek, straddles him and bears down on him. Their mouths press together, Stiles just keeps kissing him like he can steal the nightmares from Derek through his lips. "I'm real, I'm real and I'm here. It's okay, we're okay. You're fine and all of this is real."

Stiles pulls Derek's clothes off, and goes about proving to Derek how real he actually is.

When Derek falls asleep again a little over an hour later, with his naked, sweaty body tangled with Stiles, he feels better about everything.

Then he opens his eyes, and he's back in the straight jacket, and there's a doctor taking notes. "And Stiles, he was your boyfriend?"

"Yes," Derek rasps instinctively, "No, I mean. He's my fiance." He was going to be. Derek just had to ask, but he knew Stiles would say yes.

The doctor looks up, and he stares at Derek for a long time before he purses his lips and writes that down.

"How long were you on The Beacon for?"

"What?" Horror sits in Derek's gut, and the doctor sighs. 

"Look, Derek. I know it's hard to adjust to the medication we're giving you, but it's for your own good. I need you to listen and pay attention to me, okay?"

"What medication?" Derek looks around, and he thinks about how much white there is all over this ship. Thinks about how it'll stain easily with blood if something were to happen here.

The doctor snaps his fingers at Derek to get him to focus again. "Do you know where you are, Derek?"

"A ship."

Derek's sure if he doesn't give in to this nightmare, that it won't control him.

The doctor sighs, shaking his head. "Do you know who I am?"

"A doctor?" At least, he seemed like a doctor, always asking Derek how he was eating and sleeping.

"Not a medical doctor, Derek. I'm a psychologist. My name is Dr. Deaton. Do you remember why you're talking to me?"

Derek has no idea if he should play along, and so he says. "You think I'm crazy."

Deaton gives Derek this tiny smile, more like he wants to comfort Derek. He takes the paper he's been writing on, and pulls out a sheet behind it to put in front of Derek so he can read it even with the straight jacket on. "You have an acute form of dementia, Derek." Deaton taps the paper where there's a block of texts next to an unreadable diagnosis. "It came from whatever disease was on The Beacon. A lot of people died there, and we're just trying to figure out if we can cure the ones who survived."

Derek, before all this, thought he was the only survivor. He remembers Boyd bringing the ship over, loading some children onto it--remembers hearing them scream over the communication system after one of the creatures had snuck in during the transfer process. He remembers hearing everyone die. He thinks he remembers. 

They're dead, that's the one thing he's sure of.

He says, "Survivors?" and Deaton nods, pulling the paper back to himself. "There are others like you, Derek. I know you've met at least one of them."

Peter, Derek thinks, is not a man who should have survived that nightmare. Not when he can still remember the audio logs, of terrified crew members, saying how the church had surely been responsible, that their quest for the Holy Marker was had brought all of this upon them.

That's when Deaton's words really hit him, and Derek tenses. "Are there more?"

Deaton looks through his papers, and then looks Derek dead in the eye and says, "There are others, but Stiles is dead, Derek." He says it so plainly, like it's something Derek should accept without question.  
Derek feels angry. He's so angry and he doesn't want to be asleep anymore. He wants to wake up in Stiles' arms again and he wants this all to go away. He's tired of these dreams. "No, fuck you," he spits, shoving himself to his feet and watching Deaton rise. "This is bullshit. All of this is a fucking nightmare."

Deaton gestures behind Derek and that's exactly what Derek wants, he wants to be put under. He fights the orderlies, kicks and bites at them until that needle hit his neck and everything goes blessedly dark.  
Only, when Derek wakes up hoping for Stiles' arms or face, maybe even his voice. Instead, he's in the padded room again, and there's someone pulling his door open. Deaton stands there, watches as two young men pull Derek to his feet.

"That was a dangerous stunt you pulled the other day." Deaton tells him. "Ignoring reality will not make it go away, Derek. You have to know this."

 

"Do you think it might be an effect of the Marker?" A woman steps into Derek's cell, crossing her arms and leaning against the frame. Derek feels instantly threatened by her, and he can't help but snarl, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Derek, this is Dr. Morrell," Deaton gestures to the woman, adding, "She specializes in cases like you."

"Cases like me," Derek repeats flatly, an ache in his chest growing when he realizes that maybe Stiles was wrong, and maybe this is Derek's reality, not the other one. 

"Dissociative schizophrenia brought upon by a traumatic event." Dr. Morrell supplies, but Derek thinks that she may be making most of it up to keep him compliant. A lot of doctors have been doing that lately. She must notice Derek's unimpressed look, because she starts to grin wryly.

"Maybe not as dissociative as I thought," she amends, and Derek wishes he could use his hands just to strangle that smile right off her face. "There's a few others like you, but..." Morrell trails off, looking to Deaton and then back to Derek. "Those don't know as much as you do. I think we could compromise."

The last time Derek had been offered a compromise, it was because he’d been desperate and covered in blood. It hadn’t ended very well, with the other person dead and Derek barely able to stop a necromorph from impaling through him and biting his throat out. 

“Define compromise.” Derek says roughly, backing himself into the corner--one of his most favored maneuvers back on the Beacon when things had gotten a little rough.

Dr. Morrell pulls out a syringe from her pocket, uncapping it to show Derek the needle and liquid inside. “I could give you Stiles.”

One sentence has Derek struggling to breathe, his entire being aching to say yes, to agree and to open his eyes just to have his vision filled with Stiles’ smiling face again. Only, if Stiles were real, this wouldn’t be on the table, would it? 

Deaton looks frustrated, reaching out to grab Dr. Morrell’s wrist. “We’re trying to wean him off the sedatives.”

“And you did,” Morrell says placatingly, “You gave him a half dose the last time. What’s more important, his sanity, or what we could learn from him?” Even as she talks, Derek yearns for Stiles, yearns for his family--Scott, Isaac, Erica, even Stiles’ father and the rest of the group Derek had barely gotten to know before they’d all been separated. At this point, he wonders if it’s worth the effort to differentiate reality from insanity.

Deaton sighs, shaking his head. “Can you believe the words of a man whose lost his mind?”

“I have a feeling he’s not as insane as you think he is.” Morrell says, turning to Derek. “Are you?”

“That’s still up in the air,” Derek responds dryly, because it’s true. He looks at the syringe once more and he can practically hear Stiles’ voice in his ears, telling Derek it’s time to wake up, that it’s time to come home. “Give me that, and then we can talk.”

When she uncaps the syringe, Derek can practically feel Stiles holding his hand saying, "come back, Derek. Come back to me."  
Morrell fades away and he wakes up in an infirmary, with Stiles pressing tear-wet kisses to the back of his hand.

"Stiles?"

Stiles wrenches his head up and he looks so damn relieved. "You lasped," he says weakly, reaching out and rubbing his knuckles down Derek's cheek. "You had a flashback and I thought I'd lost you. You've been out of it for a few days."

It makes sense. Derek remembers, foggily, hearing one of the kids from the daycare screaming ‘help!’ during a game of tag with some of the others. He remembers the horror it brought to mind, but not much after that. Maybe Stiles is right, maybe Dr. Morrell is wrong.

“I can see you thinking,” Stiles says, and he looks brokenhearted, kissing Derek’s knuckles and then leaning up to kiss his lips. “Please stop. You know this is real. I’M telling you this is real. Don’t listen to anyone else but me, please, Derek.”

“They’re telling me it’s the Marker that’s done this.” Derek croaks, kissing Stiles back nonetheless. “They say you’re dead, that everyone else is dead and I’ve gone crazy.”

“Don’t say shit like that.” Stiles protests, “The Marker? You think my dad would let a big hunk of rock onto this ship just like that? You’re having a reaction to the cryo-stasis, Derek. I can get Scott’s mom, she can even explain it better than I can.”

Derek’s not sure, but he nods anyway. Why not combat medical advice with medical advice? Stiles gives him a kiss, and then another and says, “I’ll be right back.”

Derek rests against the cot and he listens to the heart monitor as Stiles slips out of the room. He stares at the long, blue line all the way down Stiles’ spine--full and healthy. He remembers Peter’s bar, how it was a murky yellow color after Derek had been dragged off of him, and wonders again which reality is the right one. 

He looks to where they’ve got his own health meter coiled up on the counter, waiting to be re-attached once Derek’s deemed ready to leave the infirmary. He knew they measured physical health, but Derek had never bothered to ask a single person whether they could monitor mental, as well. It makes him want to get up and find out, but the door is sliding open as Ms. McCall comes into the room with Stiles right behind her.

“You’re awake,” she smiles. Derek doesn’t know how to feel about anyone’s smile any more. 

“You could say that.”

Stiles comes up and grabs Derek’s hand, acts as his anchor. No one in that other world tries to anchor him. Perhaps that means this is the right one…

“So the way cryo-stasis works is that it puts your mind and body into a state of suspension.” Scott’s mom beings, leaning up against the counter. “It saves money for food, oxygen, water and energy if a crew is put into stasis. They only use it for engineers and excavation shuttles.” She points at Derek, indicating his ship. 

“Sometimes, though, a person’s mind doesn’t go into suspension. Usually it’s someone who is an insomniac, or someone who has never gone into suspension. Every now and then, .it’s the machine itself. Your machine wasn’t working right, your mind didn’t shut down right. Whatever those last thoughts you had before you fell asleep are what your mind latched on to. The entire trip here, you were living in a world created by your brain to deal with the fact that your mind couldn’t communicate with your body. Some people live in heaven, some are trapped in Hell.” 

Stiles’ hand squeezes tight around Derek’s as Ms. McCall continues. “The ones stuck in Hell sometimes take a while to come back. You have PTSD, Derek, and you have it badly.”

“But that’s okay,” Stiles interrupts, jostling Derek’s arm. “I’m here, and everyone else is here. We’re all gonna keep reminding you that this is real, so you just have to believe us.”

Derek wants to, he wants to badly. So when Stiles turns to grin at him, Derek gives a weak smile of his own right back and nods. “Right.”

Ms. McCall leaves and Stiles busts out a candy bar that he snuck Derek from the cafeteria. They split it--Derek’s unused to sweets so too much gives him a stomach ache-- when there’s a knock on the door.

“I came to wish good health for your friend.” It’s a voice that makes Derek’s blood run cold, and his head snaps up to stare at Peter, garbed in his priest robes, with a necklace holding a replica charm of the Marker around his neck. “If you need anything, the Church would be happy to help.”

“Get the fuck out,” Derek spits, forgetting how to breathe so fast that he can hear his heart monitor spiking. Stiles jumps to his feet and Derek doesn’t care. He wants this man GONE.

Stiles jumps to his feet, pressing Derek back into the bed. “Okay, Derek. Calm down,” he looks at Peter. “He’s not fond of the Unitologists. Think you could come back later?”

“Of course,” Peter gives Derek an odd look, but he leaves and Stiles sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed.   
“Way to give a guy a heart attack.” Stiles teases, running his hand up and down Derek’s arm soothingly. “I thought you never paid attention to my e-mails?”

“Huh?”

Stiles looks confused. “The e-mails I sent about the church? I know I sent a few pictures, too. That guy creeps me out.”

E-mails… Stiles had sent Derek a few messages, back after The Beacon had just set out and Stiles had kept constant contact with Derek. He’d mentioned a priest, one who was always trying to convince everyone that Unitology would be what saved them all in the event of an accident. Stiles had gotten into a pissing match with him, boasting Derek’s skill as an engineer being what would save them if the ship were to have any issues.

Derek had forgotten about that. It makes him feel sick to his stomach because the lines are starting to blur between what is and isn’t real.

Things… things calm down, though, for a while. Stiles makes sure to always have someone there with Derek when he isn’t, and when he is there, he’s constantly touching Derek and reassuring him that what they have is real. By the time a week has passed--completely 100% without a trip to the other reality--the doctors feel comfortable letting Derek leave the infirmary. Stiles takes his time showing Derek around The Beacon. He shows Derek how it’s changed since Derek saw it last, introduces him to other crew members and even tries to take Derek to the daycare room.

Derek refuses to go in, but Stiles understands. Instead, Stiles takes him to the apartments, locks his door and pushes Derek against the bed. He kisses every inch of Derek’s skin, each one gifted with the assurance that whatever horrors Derek had seen were not real, and that everyone was alive and well.

Stiles pushes into Derek with his palms cupping Derek’s face and his lips promising that this is real. The burn and stretch accompanied by the weight of Stiles’ body is enough to keep him grounded, to keep the screams and nightmares at bay when they struggle to reach the surface. He thinks everything is getting better, believes it enough to gasp, “I love you’s” into Stiles’ mouth, to touch and hold him back without fear of losing him. He knows this has to be real, because his mind could never replicate the way Stiles brings him to the edge and takes him over it while never letting go of Derek for a single second.

It’s bliss, when Stiles collapses on him and complains softly about how out of shape he’s gotten. Derek feels safe enough to grunt back that Stiles’ weight is proof enough of that. It makes Stiles laugh and laugh before dragging him to the small shower cubicle to clean up.

When Derek is comfortable enough re-emerging onto the deck, Stiles takes him straight for the tram, insisting that they visit Isaac and the rest of the engineers to see how things are going. There’s talk about leaving Derek on the Beacon, concerns that another cryo-sleep is ill advised. Derek doesn’t mind, he’d much rather stay with Stiles, anyway.

The tram shudders, and Derek has to force himself not to search the windows, not to reach for a gun that isn’t at his hip. He suddenly feels naked in civilian clothes. 

Stiles takes his hand, doesn’t say anything, and it’s okay.

They meet up with Isaac and the others, and Derek suddenly misses his job of fixing ships up. He asks if he can help and Isaac puts a plasma cutter into his hand, pointing up high to where they’re in the process of replacing some pipes for the ventilation. Derek aims, and pulls the trigger.

He wakes up strapped to a bed, Dr. Morrell sitting in the corner and writing something down on a clipboard.

“Good to see you awake, Mr. Hale.” She says, looking up at him. “Thought we’d lost you for a while, there.”

Derek stares at her and Dr. Morrell tucks her hair behind her ear before she says, “I’ll make sure not to give you such a high dose next time.”

“No,” Derek rasps, licking his lips and watching her cross the room to get him a paper cup of water. “No, that was fine.”

“Every day we let you stay in that fantasy world of yours is another day we don’t have our answers.” Dr. Morrell points out, bringing him the water and putting it to his lips. Derek sips at it, trying desperately not to cry because he thought he was done with this. 

“Every day you keep me here against my will is a day you won’t get your answers.” He points out instead, realizing that he’s not going to get anywhere if he doesn’t use the same methods that she did on him. 

Dr. Morrell looks thoughtful, tilting her head to the side and then smiling. “This is true,” she agrees, and sets his cup down. “You seem lucid today.”

“Unfortunately.”

Dr. Morrell smiles and undoes his restraints so that Derek can sit up. “There’s a survivor’s therapy in a few minutes. Why don’t you join us?”

Derek doesn’t trust her, but he also wants to know what the others are thinking, to see if he can use their minds to gather if this is reality or not. 

He can’t, it turns out. Half of them speak gibberish, and the rest make Derek angry. There’s Peter and Matthew, those two are the worst. Gerard is another. He’s the only Argent who made it out alive and Derek can think of at least two others that deserved to survive instead of him. 

It makes him angry, hearing their stories of finding escape pods, of leaving loved ones behind to die. Peter’s words are laced with the faith of a preacher, Matt’s words are shaking and uneven, and Derek can see just from the way this kid acts that he has the blood of innocents on his hands. Gerard, however, is the worst by far. He’s another Unitologist, a preacher who Peter doesn’t seem fond of at all. He speaks of how the necromorphs were a means of eliminating the weak, the faithless. He talks about how there is nowhere left to go but up. Derek hates him.

They ask Derek questions, ask him how he got out, about the marker and about the necromorphs. Derek tells them a little bit of everything, because what he knows is the only bargaining chip he has right now. He says how they pulled the Marker onto the ship, how it destroyed everything. He tells them about the necromorphs, how they were near indestructible, and that Derek had nearly gotten himself killed multiple times before realizing that the only effective way to kill them was to shoot their limbs off before anything else. He doesn’t tell them about the audio logs, or the evolved necromorphs, not even about the colonies and how there was a hive mind that had formed, or any of the hundred other things he could say. Instead, he trailed off as Stiles’ voice came back to his mind, screaming Derek’s name to wake up.

“That’s all I can remember right now,” Derek says, wringing his hands together and looking anywhere but at Peter. Peter, who has yet to look away from Derek since he came into the room. 

He wants to go back to Stiles. He wants to wake up. If he thinks hard enough, he can feel Stiles’ hands holding his arms, pressing into his chest. He can almost remember how Stiles smells. He closes his eyes and tells himself this isn’t real and that Stiles is waiting for him.

When he opens his eyes again, Stiles is gasping out, “Jesus fucking christ, you scared the shit out of me.” and dropping his head onto Derek’s chest and pulling on Derek’s jacket. Derek swallows dryly, looking around and seeing everyone has circled around him. He can feel the plasma cutter in his hand and he croaks out, “how long was I out?” just as the medical staff arrives.

Stiles has tears in his eyes and his lip is wobbling and Derek suddenly feels extremely guilty. He reaches out, grabbing Stiles’ chin between his fingers. “Stiles?”

Stiles jerks his chin out of Derek’s hold and shakes his head, biting on his lip. “It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just really scared me, okay?” and Derek feels awful. He doesn’t like what’s happening to himself, but he knows it must be terrible for Stiles, who must have expected a wonderful reunion, but ended up with a crazy boyfriend.

Derek doesn’t even know what to say. He can’t apologize for what he’s going through, he knows it isn’t his fault. He knows there’s not much they can do, other than if he maybe showed Stiles how committed he was. How much he preferred this life over the other one. So he asks Stiles the question he planned on asking before all of this shit happened. The very question that he was hoping he knew the answer to, so at least there was some truth in the other reality.

“Marry me.”

Stiles gapes at him as the medical guy crouches down and runs a scanner over Derek’s body to check for injuries. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Well, yes.” Derek points out, because he kind of is, even though he knows that’s not what Stiles means. Stiles kind of chokes on this strangled half-laugh, half-sob and he shoves at Derek’s shoulder while the medic says Derek’s free of injury and says he should probably just rest, that his body may be over-tired and that’s why he had a relapse. Stiles thanks the guy and then turns to stare down at Derek, grinning like an idiot.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” Derek doesn’t care that the others are watching, he pulls Stiles in for a kiss, memorizing it. Stiles returns with just as much exuberance, holding Derek’s face and muttering, “Yes, yes, you stupid, crazy, bastard,” between kisses. It makes Derek feel better, knowing he has this to come back to when he loses his mind every now and then.

By the time they get up and head back to their rooms, Stiles is already starting to devise a plan. “There has to be triggers, that’s what’s giving you those flashbacks, right?”

“Only they aren’t flashbacks,” Derek reminds him. Stiles gives him an odd look, and then shakes his head with a laugh.

“What are you seeing in that head of yours, buddy?”

“An asylum, I think… possibly a med-bay.” Derek explains, his mind drifting off to the memory of people like himself in white scrubs, medical bracelets, and deadened expressions. There may have only been a few survivors in that world, but there were hundreds of others that had come from somewhere else. Sometimes Derek couldn’t sleep over the sound of patients down the hall screaming their heads off.

Stiles doesn’t seem like he wants to pressure Derek, looks like he’s afraid to trigger another jump, or whatever it is they should call Derek’s episodes. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter, all right? This is what’s real, do you hear me?” In their room, Stiles holds onto Derek’s jacket and tugs on it, straightening the lapels. “Whatever you’re seeing there comes from that big broody noggin of yours, and nothing else.”

“Okay,” Derek says complacently, because he wants to believe it. He wants Stiles to be right. Stiles seems to understand this, because he’s quick to change the subject.

“So… did you get me a ring?”

Ring….

“I left it on the shuttle,” Derek says, knowing exactly where it is. He thinks, in that other world, the shuttle is still floating in space, and that his ring--hand welded just for Stiles--is probably floating around in his cabin still. Never to be seen again, never to be touched. Never to be worn on Stiles’ finger.

Derek doesn’t like where his thoughts are going, so he shakes his head and smiles at his fiance. “It should still be there.”

Stiles looks uneasy, like he doesn’t want to entertain the idea of letting Derek go off on his own. Derek’s not sure how keen he is on that, either. Then again, maybe he’ll be able to figure out if Stiles is what’s keeping him anchored, or if it’s his own will. 

“Scott will probably go with you,” Stiles offers, gesturing vaguely. “Dad’s not going to let me off the station, but Scott has clearance since he’s a medical intern.”

Derek hasn’t seen much of Scott, and it looks like this is Stiles trying to be there for Derek while giving him space at the same time. Derek understands Stiles’ fears. He’s been with Stiles for 8 years, known him for nearly three more than that. He agrees, and they go down to the medical bay--this time Stiles holds Derek’s hand for the entire tram ride--and Stiles leads him to where Scott works.

The door slides open and Derek sees Deaton talking to Scott quietly. He backpedals out of the room like there’s a necromorph coming at him. His worlds are merging again, he can’t do this. He thinks if he kills this Deaton, they’ll stay separate. He’s clawing at his pants, looking for his weapon again while Stiles snags his wrists and begs him to say what’s wrong, not to react. “Derek, Derek, look at me, man. Come on, baby, don’t do this. Use your words. What are you seeing?”

Deaton approaches with Scott, and he looks confused. Derek doesn’t know how to talk, though. He’s afraid Deaton isn’t really there and if Derek says he is, Stiles will realize Derek’s a lost cause. He twists his arms, trying to wriggle out of Stiles’ hold, but Stiles won’t let him go. 

“He’s looking at me,” Deaton finally says, and Derek feels every muscle in his body go utterly rigid when Stiles turns to acknowledge Deaton.

“Derek?” Stiles is looking like he’s waiting for Derek to agree. Derek swallows heavily, and nods. Scott nudges his way past Deaton, crouching down and smiling weakly.

“Hey Derek. Don’t really know why my boss is scaring you. You know him, don’t you? You looked up everything you could find about him when I told you I was interning here last year, remember?”

Does he?

It’s so hard, though, for Derek to remember anything specific. What if these are things his mind is making up to keep him confused? Or what if this is what’s real, and his subconscious is feeding off of it to keep his hallucinations more and more realistic?

“Derek?”

Derek looks at Stiles and then to the others. “I don’t know,” he confesses, “I just want to go to the shuttle.”

The shuttle is simple and easy. If he can find the ring, he can prove to himself that this is the right reality. That’s what he wants to do. Stiles explains to Scott and Deaton what’s needed to be done, lacing his fingers with Derek as Scott agrees and follows them down to the elevator shaft so they can make the trip to the docking bay. Every now and then, Stiles picks Derek’s hand up, kisses his knuckles, just to remind him that this is what’s real.

The elevator shudders and the lights flicker. When the door opens, Derek sees blood and hears nothing but screaming as something writhing and inhuman lunges for him. He jerks back, head cracking against the interior of the elevator and his vision bursting white in pain.

When everything comes back into focus, he’s staring at a flashlight being shined in his eyes, with Dr. Morrell on the other end of it.

“He responds to pain,” she says, to an orderly standing beside her. “He’s more lucid than he was earlier.”

“Fuck you,” Derek spits out, because he wants to go home now. Home is with Stiles, away from this. He feels so drained, like nothing he does is ever going to make this stop. 

Christ. Oh god. The necromorphs. There had been one when the elevator had opened. Derek needed to go back. He had to.

“Give me a dose,” he demands, struggling in his straight jacket. “I’ll tell you about the Marker, and the Unitologists, about the hive mind and the audio logs. You have to give me another dose.” He has no idea what will work anymore, is this reality, and he needs a dose to leave it? Or is this his mind shutting down, and he has to trick himself into waking up?

Dr. Morrell frowns, shaking her head. “We already know the effects of the Marker, Derek. Your dementia? Your loss of reality? We know it’s because of the Marker.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Derek cries, shoving forward and finding himself forcefully pushed back against the standing bed he’d just been untied from. They strap him down again and Derek writhes as the bed is switched to lie horizontally. “Give me the dose! I don’t want to be here! I want to go home! We’re all going to die, anyway! Just let me have my peace!”

God, and that’s the truth, isn’t it. Derek knows it, because it’s the only reason he can think of why his mind can’t make a choice on what’s real and what isn’t. He’s not willing to accept all of this. He doesn’t deserve any of it. He wants to go home, he wants Stiles. He wants everything to be the way it was.

His face is burning with tears. This isn’t the way things were supposed to go. This isn’t fair at all. “Stiles!” he cries, because Stiles could be dying right now. Maybe his mind shut down at the sight of a necromorph. What if he’s blacked out again? He’d done it so many times on the Beacon--blacked out and murdered masses of necromorphs.

That wasn’t right, though. That had never happened. That was the effects of the cryo-stasis. 

The necromorphs didn’t exist, that was the cryo-stasis. If Stiles were alive, the necromorphs, whatever they were, might not exist. 

Derek is so confused. He doesn’t know what’s real, what isn’t, what’s a possibility, any of it. He’s losing his mind and he’s already gone insane. He’s so out of reality that he can’t even decide which one he wants to believe in.

“Derek!” Stiles is screaming his name and Derek thrashes on the cot. “Derek, snap out of it! There’s nothing there! God dammit, Derek!”

He remembers Morrell talking about pain, and he starts hitting his head against the back of the bed until it hurts enough for his head to spin. He can hear someone screaming. He realizes it’s himself and he goes dead silent, only to hear the rasp of someone struggling to breathe, wheezing.

Derek opens his eyes and his hands are around Stiles’ throat, pinning him to the wall. Scott’s unconscious, slumped against the ground and bleeding from the head. Stiles drops to his knees, coughing and dragging in air and Derek feels like the biggest sack of shit ever.

“Derek,” Stiles croaks, but Derek’s already stumbling out of the elevator, and straight for the shuttle. The dock crews don’t really know much about what happened to Derek, so they don’t try to stop him when he fumbles for his card and swipes it, clambering into the shuttle as Stiles cries out for Derek to stop. Derek doesn’t want to stop, though. If he could maybe just escape, could strand himself in the middle of nowhere, he might find the courage to kill himself.

Except… he’d spent so long fighting for his life, that Derek wasn’t so sure how easily he could just end it.

He watches the shuttle door shut as Stiles starts to run down the docks towards him. He turns on the console, watches the dock door close to lock Stiles out as the bay opens. He may be irrational, but he’d hurt Stiles and Scott. He couldn’t bear it if this happened a second time.

Derek ejects the shuttle, with no coordinates and no destination. He floats away from Beacon for the sheer purpose of escaping. He leaves the cockpit, heads for the cabin, where some of his belongings should still be.

It was time for him to try and find out the truth.

He presses open the door to his cabin when Stiles comes in over the intercom. Stiles sounds almost as broken as Derek feels.

“Derek. I know you can hear me. I know you’re not crazy. The doctors said it gets worse before it gets better. You’re still trying to figure things out, but running away isn’t going to get you better. You need to come back, please.” Stiles begs, and his face appears on every vid system in the shuttle. Derek knows Stiles can’t see him, but that doesn’t stop himself from staying where he is and watching Stiles struggle to keep his composure.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, okay? I’m the one who asked you to come here. I’m the one who told you that distance traveling was safe. Everything that’s wrong with you is my fault, and I am so sorry. I don’t know if you’re mad at me, if you think I’m the reason you are this way, but please come home.”

Derek doesn’t blame Stiles. He doesn’t think any of this is Stiles’ fault, because he’s been so busy trying to keep himself from going any more insane that he hasn’t had time to think of the reasons why he came in the first place.

Derek’s hand is hovering the knob to his dresser, ready to pull it open and grab the ring when Stiles pleads again.

The ring, he decides, can wait. 

He turns, resetting the GPS to return to The Beacon. The door’s barely opened when Stiles is in his arms, holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Stiles pleads, and Derek doesn’t ever want to let go. He buries his face into Stiles’ throat to memorize the feel of him. “Thank you, thank you for coming home.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Derek struggles to say, pushing away the sound of invisible fingers snapping somewhere around his head, of people talking that he can’t see. “It was never your fault.”

Stiles pulls back, holding Derek’s face. “Let’s go back to the room. I’ll cover the vents, hide the knives. I won’t let anything take you away from me, you hear? I’ll just bring you right back, buddy.”

Derek nods, because this is what he wants, and Stiles grins. “They can’t have you. You’re mine.”

“Yes.” Derek says, knowing Stiles would never go down without a fight. Stiles presses their lips together.

“Forever.”


End file.
